


Meanwhile

by Outofangband



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Dark fic, Implied/Referenced Torture, The title is awful but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18262418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outofangband/pseuds/Outofangband
Summary: (Two connected one shots about Maedhros in Angband.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (also posted on @outofangband on Tumblr)

    _“Elf…” a rough whisper from the doorway startled Maedhros out of his half sleep. He blinked. One of his hands was pressing against his face. The intrusive presence he had been attempting to bat away was merely a sliver of light from the space beyond his tiny cell. A soft sound as the figure stepped in, the door closing behind them. Maedhros stayed still against the wall, not knowing what it was the intruder wanted. He could barely make out their outline despite how well his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Indeed, when the being lit a torch with a hissing sound that made Maedhros shudder in his chains, the brightness stung his eyes so hot tears spilled down his bruised cheeks._

_“Elf,” was repeated in the gruff accent of someone unaccustomed to Maedhros’s native tongue. They sounded unsure, not malicious and so he did not attempt to move into a still more protective position. As the torch light was raised, Maedhros could see what they were holding; a jug with several cloths draped over it. He lifted his head slightly._

_“My lord wants you to clean yourself,” they stumble over their words but as the order had been given before, Maedhros had no difficulty understanding it. He merely sighed softly. He was exhausted and the prospect of crawling across the tiny room over to the jug and letting the always too cold water spill over his many injuries felt repulsive. The servant took another few steps forward and set the jug down, though not close enough that Maedhros could reach it. They seemed almost wary of the elf, as though the chained and battered creature could somehow cause them harm if they moved too quickly. Or perhaps they were uncomfortable by his many injuries and generally brutalized appearance. Maedhros would have thought such a look would be uncommon in Angband. The few times he had seen other prisoners in the corridors, they were hardly being shepherded along gently. And in the places where the passages were cave wall on one side and the sharp edge of a drop on the other, a quick glance over the ledge was enough to gain sight of the presumably hundreds of skeletons, not all of them completely devoid of flesh and features. Yet the several times the servant had entered Maedhros’s tiny space to deliver the rudimentary supplies needed to keep him resembling clean (though why his enemy bothered with this at all Maedhros did not know, somehow he had difficulty believing it was for his benefit), they appeared hesitant, almost nervous as though this wasn’t what they signed up for. The sight of the obviously tortured elf was an unpleasant reminder they did not want to grapple with._

_Indeed, it had startled even Maedhros when, on the third occasion the still nameless guard had left a jug of water and roughly sewn washing cloth at his feet, they swallowed nervously, looked around at the locked door behind them and whispered that they had never seen prisoners kept in their master’s quarters. They had left Maedhros feeling a mixture of curiosity, annoyance, and despair, not really sure what the purpose of that confession had been. Was that supposed to make him feel better, to know that the pain he was experiencing was indeed unique, even in Angband or that his position as king to the dispossessed Noldor was recognized in this twisted manner? Instead of joining the rest of the prisoners in the underground levels to end up in the slave quarters or worse, the breeding chambers for the monsters sewn in the darkness, Maedhros was here, serving as something akin to a personal slave to the Dark Foe though instead of being set to work, he provided some form of vaguely politically motivated entertainment. Politically motivated…Maedhros paused in his bitter musings to think about this. Instead, a light blush spread to his cheeks and ears. Vaguely Maedhros wondered if all this blushing from walking by the fire and forges, from pain, and from humiliation would somehow be unhealthy. Though if it was there was hardly anything he could do._

_The light from the outside corridor was so bright in comparison to his cell, his eyes dazzled and swam whenever the door was opened and closed. It took several minutes for them to clear though they did so to nothing. There was hardly anything to look at in here, excepting the jug and cloth. Maedhros sighed. He was far too tired to do this now._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Morgoth tries something different with Maedhros. Disturbing little piece that was in my head yesterday. Though there is no explicit sexual abuse, there is definitely creepy content of a variety that might be upsetting to those with sexual abuse as a trigger or squick. This is unedited so I apologize for that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (also posted on @outofangband on Tumblr )

_Growing up with as many younger brothers and cousins as he did, Maedhros had long since learned to pick his battles. And as life and its consequences became increasingly more severe, so did the decisions he had to make regarding what he would fight and what he would quietly endure. In Angband, this talent of knowing when to stand down and when to gather his resolve and continue was put to use not so much as a leadership or strategic quality but more as a complication in a perverse game of choices. Seemingly futile choices._

_When he arrived Maedhros resolved to not break under torture, to not give a single detail of his family, his armies, or his people to the enemy. By his sixth meeting with the Dark Foe, it was clear that the Vala cared little for information. His attempts at questioning Maedhros were lazy, almost dismissive. What he enjoyed, what he wanted, was the torture itself. And he was good at it. Maedhros’s determination to stay alert and aware so as not to accidentally give anything away faded to the dull realization that when he chose to fight, it was not so much productive but rather performative. When he resisted, when he refused to scream, to cry, to lose control over his increasingly alien body, it was to serve no other purpose than to prove a point. To refuse to give his enemy the reactions he so obviously craved. Which would have been easy enough. Maedhros had a high tolerance for physical pain and discomfort. Unfortunately, the longer Maedhros denied Morgoth what he wanted, the longer the session would last, making the torture more brutal, more degrading, more extreme. So, Maedhros bitterly observed to himself as he was half dragged from his tiny cell on one occasion, all he had to do was calculate how long the torment was worth enduring, given that he knew it would happen either way and though the loss of composure was no guarantee that it would stop, it would certainly continue until he gave in. All these factors made his head hurt._

_This was made worse when, instead of being brought to the throne room, the Nevermost Hall, as it was referred to within the confines of the fortress, the guard escorting Maedhros to his quotidian doom brought him to a set of doors on a different level. A quick glance around as he was pushed and pulled past by a chain wrapped around his wrists let him know that this was an even fancier location. The various servants, beast and Maiar alike paused to look at him. Some even whispered speculations, nodding in Maedhros’s direction. Maedhros gritted his teeth. He could hardly let himself be upset by this comparatively minor indignity._

_They stopped sharply at another set of doors where the guard knocked. Maedhros did his best to steel himself as the unmistakable footsteps of the Dark Vala drew closer. Without a word to the guard, the Moringotto took the chain and pulled Maedhros forward, the door closing behind them. The silence was almost awkward as Maedhros was dragged by the arm (the chain around his wrists had been wrapped around his neck temporarily) through the chambers and into yet another room. This one was more well lit than anywhere else in the fortress Maedhros had been. Luminous babules the elf suspected might contain some form of life hung in the corners. The ceramic tile the room had been paved with was a bright, clean white. Maedhros’s jaw shook slightly. A large part of the place was occupied by a deep, obsidian basin, sunk into the ground._

_It was difficult to say who looked more out of place in the ornate bathing room; the horribly thin elf, dressed in nothing but a tattered and dirty tunic that barely reached his calves or the Vala, in far better physical condition but nonetheless a startling figure of dark robes and hellish light in the gentle glow of the orbs. Maedhros swallowed._

_Despite his height being rather impressive among his people, Maedhros was still much shorter than the Vala. The times he dared to look him in the face, he had to tilt his head back slightly. Today he was confused and angry enough to glare at his tormentor as they stood facing each other. As he suspected, Morgoth merely smirked at him, an eyebrow raised as though patiently indulging a child’s moment of stubbornness. Maedhros shifted uncomfortably, waiting for an order he could at least refuse._

_Finally, the Vala sighed in an almost disappointed fashion and nodded towards the basin._

_“Underneath,” he spoke in a high yet deep voice that did not seem to suit the language he used, “Is an underground spring.” He took a step away from Maedhros and moved something off the shallower end of the bath. Almost immediately, a hot gurgle of water started to seep into the basin. Maedhros could not help but to watch, transfixed. He had never seen anything like this before. Morgoth smiled slightly, amused by the elf’s surprise and obvious curiosity. He allowed Maedhros to stare for a few minutes as the water filled the bath before bringing him back to his present predicament._

_“Get in.” A wave of the Vala’s hand and the water ceased to flow. Maedhros looked up sharply. Morgoth’s smile widened and so did the elf’s eyes. He nodded to the flimsy and stained tunic Maedhros wore._

_“Take that off.” Maedhros stared at him, his face paling noticeably. The Vala’s own eyes glittered malevolently. He had seen his prisoner’s bare form before, covered in blood and writhing in forms of agony usually never even witnessed by his kind but Morgoth was well aware he was demanding a new level of vulnerability, humiliation. The look of almost bewilderment on Maedhros’s face spoke to the sheer wrongness, indecency of his order._

_Maedhros’s hands shook so badly at his sides that he doubted he could easily slip off the tunic even if he wanted to. His took a small step backwards, mind reeling. Somewhere a snide, annoyed acknowledgment that it was foolish to be surprised by his enemy’s malice rose up in him. Morgoth was still watching, fingers pressed together._

_“Take that off or I shall remove it for you,” the Vala said quietly, his head tilted to the side in amusement. Maedhros considered this in the few moments he had before he knew Morgoth would become impatient and make the decision for him. As though there was something like a decision here. Part of him wanted to just let Morgoth do it, that way he didn’t have to feel complicit in his own embarrassment. But he also wanted to keep the Vala’s hands off of him for as long as he could. Swallowing, he raised a hand to the fraying color of the tunic and started to lift it off him. Maedhros felt his entire body tense, his toes clenching, his upper arms pressed tightly against his sides as he lowered his only clothing down to hold in front. Even a glare felt foolish so he kept his expression as blank as he could._

_“Now get in,” Morgoth said, his too sharp teeth showing as a clawed hand reached out to pull the tunic from Maedhros’s hands, causing a small gasp. Feeling like he might at least be protected under the water, Maedhros climbed carefully into the large basin, his skin alighting with the oddly pleasant sensation from the hot water. The only times he had bathed in the past months had been with a rough cloth and small amount of frigid water. Maedhros didn’t need to be told that this was a privilege, a luxury here and that he was receiving it made him feel even more confused and embarrassed._

_Resting his hand on the rim of the bath, Maedhros tried to relax. He was covered in bruises and abrasions which stung in the warmth. The knowledge that he was still being carefully observed burned in his eyes and cheeks. He positioned himself in the most guarded way he could manage with his knees to his chest and his other arm wrapped around them. The ends of his hair brushed against his back in the water. When he raised his head to the unpleasant sensation of something dripping down his back, he saw Morgoth reach into his robes and pull out a small, glass vial._

_“What is that?” the frightened words were out before he could stop himself. The Vala looked delighted as he held up the bottle to the light as though sincerely considering his prisoner’s question._

_“Soap,” he answered, sitting on the rim of the bath. Maedhros inched away from him “You will need it. I want you to wash your hair too. It would be a shame to have to cut it.” He reached out and took a few strands of the elf’s red tresses. Maedhros held very still. He could not remember ever feeling more awkward or embarrassed. He wanted to thrash and shout though he was distinctly aware that doing so would be foolish, even childish. Come to think of it, the last time he had been forced to bathe with an observer, Tyelko had only just been born. The memory, however fleeting, exacerbated Maedhros’s humiliation painfully. He just wanted this to be over with, any physical torture Morgoth planned was far, far easier. But the realization was already starting to grow in him; the Vala knew perfectly well how uncomfortable this was. There was absolutely no reason for him to end it quickly, or to cease these types of torment. As though his thoughts were being observed, Morgoth laid a claw like hand on his prisoner’s back. Maedhros let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a cry as the hand begin to work through his hair carefully, almost gently. He felt so trapped within himself that he was startled when the dark Vala began to speak again, in a low, soothing murmur._

_“Relax, little Fëanorian,” his hand began to rub slow circles on Maedhros’s bruised back. His terror took his breath away, “You are so marred, child. But I can fix it.” Maedhros could barely feel the water around him. He could barely feel his own limbs. The voice continued in his ear, whispering against his hair and blending with the caresses. Maedhros had some vague registering of how_ wrong _, how strange and bizarre and just_ wrong _this was before he was forced to retreat._


End file.
